This is what I do.

When the shit hits the fan there are two types of people, they ones who look for cover and the ones who stand to face the fire. Cover’s better, but this is what i do…

(Listen link on the bottom)

This is what I do

What’s wrong with me, nobody seems to ever wanna get along with me. Long live greed. Nobody seems to really deem me smart and keen. Too silly this will make me sick, nick nice trick, got a rock I could skip? I’d love to watch the ripple triple until settling on the shore. Life’s a scam a one way scan, nobodies impressed with my heartfelt impression, my heart felt the fenced in feeling of a really tight cage no way. By the grace of god, this life taste so odd. Can you face the odds? can you face the odds? Prod by the rod this from the sky to the sod. It never really stops

proud prodigals system made inaudible, improbable prophet, stop it, why you always gotta make yourself out to be the hot shit, locking all the demons in a closet. Well watch this, because this is what I do.

WHATS WRONG WITH ME.

Straight cursed, feelings overwhelm me from the birth to the herse. Keep listening to voice in head. Voice is that plural? I’ll blur I’ll stir,I’ll Shake I’ll rinse, repeat. Stack my little life on these sheets to complete, the last page. The death of a poet don’t blow it. Lavender lavished my Pasture faster faster, please master send me to the rapture. I feel twisted, contoured captured plastered.

Tragically alone, that’s how the orphans and the bastard feel. That’s how the the mentors and the masters feel, that’s how the king in the castle feels. How the Saints and the asshole feels. We’re are looking for the same damn thing, because the truth is we never really understood anything. And how could we?

I act so goody goody but there’s fire in my blood I can’t quench it, and Fuck it I don’t want to. Fuck If i don’t want you. Fog on window makes it’s easy to believe. It’s just me, so everything and everyone’s a figment of reality. Relax,don’t pull that thread, remembering what sensei said about the garden. Pardon, remembering what men might say about my hardened shroud and my sword and shield.

This rabbit hole doesn’t really need to end.

I’m finally finalizing all of my faults fabricating falling in the false field of view. Fantasizing, fundamentally relinquishing my youth. Functioning to fight for the truth, too ruthless. The truth is, nah that’s stupid. I’m the one who’s made me feel this lucid. I can’t believe that I forgot that I could do this. Permanent and prudent, feelings so precious so please don’t test this. Mayflys not a deity to mess with, my hands get antsy heart gets restless. Autopsy shows a brain that’s impressed with a mess full mayflys, fly away for the day little bug eyes

https://soundcloud.com/subtle-keystrokes/this-is-what-i-do

Enlightenment and Luminance

He lived in a home that was drenched in secrecy

Every step left a whisper

every night life would linger

& his friends were mostly dead, or hermits, or cats, or bugs

He was fine with interpolating his own luminance

He felt free amongst his chosen monochromatic romance with self

 

Devoid of voids, of noise, of threats

Employed by dark, through cobbed webs crept

A multitude of purgatorial projections strangled him.

Yet he was not uneasy, and did not concern himself

He’d tried, and fried and burned himself

He’d learned, and purged, and earned himself

This desolation…

 

Time rolled through his city, he’d simply tend the garden.

Overgrown with his patient isolation he formulated his statement

He’d made a vow to keep his mouth stitched

Unless his words could make a difference

For he’d tried, and they didn’t

And he’d tried, and they didn’t

It seemed risky, and he knew all too well how failure felt

He reflected, he refracted, accepted and diffracted all his passion

Dipped his quill in the ink and let it happen

 

For years he wrote and felt no satisfaction

Months of formulation at a time sent soaring into fires.

And clearly he grew weary.

He was clutching at an idle centrifuge

He refused to reconsider….

One day a shrill noise penetrated his existential state of healing.

It was indecently beautiful and an overwhelming feeling.

For reasons unbeknownst, he wept like a child

For the first time in years he looked at himself

Not introspectively but physically.

He recognized his misery, separated emotionally he felt a sense of sympathy for his own blistering. This was his own detriment, this was his own obscuring. He’d been procuring resentment and sacrificed his only chance to be awoken.

As is the case all too frequently , he realized his fate all too late. He approached the edge of his world and laughed at the apparent lack of resolution from his chosen lens.

There was no chance to make amendments,

There; was no time left to make friendships…

He was at the focal point pointing down at himself.

Tears of sorrow became supple, then became thin and ironic until finally…

A tiny glimpse of hope reignited his laughter.

He had documented most of his journey.

Although intentionally cryptic, this was the nature of the mystic

Naturally he had missed it but somebody else might enlist his list and fix the districts

And figured he’d be happy home.

So he descended now into the ether, and either way…

He knew he’d turn the fulcrum. So his reluctance was released

He was finally at peace

He gauged his tension and left one final inky contribution

 

All Growth Requires Spiritual Dissonance

Indefinite Balance Without Seamless Enlightenment and Luminance  

is Stagnation.

 

 

Body Wilt

I love my mind
I love my spirit

out comes the body and

I never could endear it. I embellished all but self,
I never would endure it, I disregarded my own shell
So who’s steering?

I found me fearing the worst.
I’ve been breaking my own back.
I’ve been raking over my own tracks
I’ve been faking my own last chance
Only capable of the let go. The release but never grasped back.

All these facts water-falling  from my backpack.

They’d never grasp that: I was the wide eyed child stuck in the glass capped between some type of sentimental dreamscape of oneirology and this string of consciousness called society. With sobriety lingering like a sick joke…Shutup, go to sleep. I was a lucid spirit… I never expected you would follow me. That’s just the name of my game so hallowed be…

I’ve thought that life was only pretty in the pitch black. Pity that, that id act so nitty gritty  in my camouflage. Flawed fawn awaiting for the break of dawn. Someone please release me from the rat race. I can’t face that I might not just be faceless.
I’m not sure that I can take this.

But when we let warm wet embrace of love in, life can be a precious instrumental.

So detrimental, Have been these Eve’s upon my mental.

I’ll be the stencil you be the pencil. Lift me off the page and let’s just let go.

I’m just trying to be special and I swear I will.

I just wanna be helpful, without being made out to be the easy kill.

There’s a difference, y’all treat me like an idiot. Acting like you took it when I gave you it.

Shit that’s shitty you people must be kidding but your not. So my thoughts got caught in the place between two locked knots and shot down.

Once again I’ll be the sad clown just let the makeup stream dreams downs my ugly face. No time to waste I’ll be significant the day the Suns finally set setting.

What aren’t you people getting?

Gratifications not enlightenment. Not centering not a blessing but undressing skin to let the serpent in. I’m crowning now I can’t hold me down. I’m blooming through I won’t let me down.
I’m all mud and blood and sweat and anguish.
Rugged love and childish faces, perfect steps on wilted pavement. And I just want to be released from this gutter of insubordination. Life is beautiful and yet we choose to make it ugly with the taking consumption the fighting the fucking the no ones ever gonna let the love in then they sit and say “the world is made of stuffing” when they’ve never even grasped another.

Your suffering Is no idol, you are not unique in your pain. You think the world revolves around the little cogs inside your brain.

Shame on these little boys and girls never made to vibe in the tribe. Currently the currency’s the reason your alive and that’s brutal. Let me rebuttal for all the troubled folk.

Tomorrow is a joke, today is a hoax.

I’ll be posted in the corner with my cloak and some shit to smoke. As the smoke rises, my Crimson intuition guides and hides this hide, watch my blood drip……My emerald energy encompasses the surroundings in a profound way I am the ethereal seer that we all have the power to cling on to. Find your martyr is he in there look a little harder. Take less give more be productive, because we’re fucked and tucked in to say goodnight when it isn’t right. Poverty will lead this revolution. And I  won’t let my soldiers down. I’m hungry, and if I ever find a sacred place to lay this aggression I’ll agree with it. No if ands or butts to smoke so I’m toking I’m smoking in second chances, third fourth, fifth. Stop clogged chakra with only my mantra to offer. I was hoping that you’d see the light before I brought the dark, but that’s just too much to ask. It would be all too much to touch the wise-mind in time…and why’s mine any better. I am drowning in these interactions. My noisey optics shroud my judgement and I resent what I can feel through this diffraction. steadfast with compassionate actions. compared to the smeared faces of entitlement.

I AM NOT LIKE THAT

I AM NOT BEAUTIFUL IN FORM…AND AM NOT NORMAL. Oh but I can will it, or will my body wilt?

~Prof. Mayfly

The Bug Collection (Video)

Show the prince of anxiety some love, and check out my collection of bugs.

this is some wierdness from the depths of my sober conscious. please enjoy.

 

The Bug Collection

You can’t step on them ok?

The Bug Collection

a story of retribution through compassion 

By Subtle Keystrokes & Prof. Mayfly

So what the fuck am i supposed to do, when every critter in the grass makes me hope for you. And I’m hopeful too, of the mirror and the message it’s exposed me to. Human beings getting mean I’ve got news for you, I grew into this, please grow out of it, trying to cure my bad habits it’s a lonely road to freedom but by kingdom come this will be done, collection smashed in half and scattered, stop tripping it’s smaller than you’ve made it out to be, I resent you even doubting me. Because I will. I’m not in it for the thrill dollar bills or the easy kill. We will triumph, you can’t step on them ok?. Or step at me with your Jedi like mind games. I’m fine man I’m over it. I just don’t want to be the one who’s disowning this distant star grab space landing. Life is better than that so much better than that so much better in fact it’s only one mission is to stay in tact and that’s tactics you can’t detach that level or fragmenting fractals, Its triple double packed like a stippled graph, I get so panicked I induce my own asthma attacks and that’s whack man I’m better that. One foot after the other brother, we always make it home eventually, always eventually, a sentiment Worth cherishing. So why worry why hurry why stack the cash, pass the class, just relax make it last, and expand your mental house of glass. Live vividly eat the deliciously vibrant landscape like it’s yours for the taking. (It doesn’t know) the difference between you or me or human beings a piece of tree or anything. I don’t wanna lead I’m just tryna be a referee. But for some damn reason no ones even gonna let me be. I’m just trying to do me and I’m doing great. That’s a feeling that your going to need to integrate, I don’t mean to be sarcastic but were so much smaller than our big heads make us out to be. So check it out: fuck the antfarm I’m outta here.

 

BlissFull Desperation

As a poet, i can see this blissful desperation.

A pulsing declaration of ones regimented tranquility.

It is not vivid in its integrity, but that is what makes it so flagrant.

That means, I’ll probably never see the rift upon the horizon.

And Perhaps I won’t ever shift past my own, and into you….

I am in limbo

I am insistent that this instance is in sense and not too senseless,

yet not to sense less, but be mindful.

I just want you to be happy like a stick in the mud but I’m stuck on me and can’t move past that.

i am indistinguishably communal and somehow aggressively dreadful….

No i AM a lover first, but a fighter too.

that is the reverence of a twin soul, and i don’t feel brittle friend

you can bend me backwards, and i always snap back,

backed by the final back-flash and the rat pack.

They Love me in the gutters

I’ve always repped the rugged and the tunnel folk and you

You say i couldn’t quite get it, but this is art, what is left to get?

why are you attempting to attach some sort of quality to expressionism?

I’m more than aware of the fact that im riddle with mistakes

and I know you would have it fixed… but it’s not about broken reparation

Its about Trance, this is about consciousness

Dance

This is about decoding my inner complexities and festerings

I can feel this tension growing that i’d like to let go of.

But heavy is the head that wears the crown

Weary are the shoulders that bear the pounds.

Bearing is the heart that holds it down

and a closed throat brokers if you’ll hear me now

~Prof. MayFly

Rant

i screamed a bunch of truths you couldn’t handle from the mantle stand till the earth stands still tilted. yea i filled this with the littlest of pick me ups so put me down i don’t wanna be like charlie brown fiending….. No an independant revolution  of the mind full of mindfullness, i used to mind untill these criss crossed existences stitches a glimpse or twitch of it

I became my turn of page towards the brave sage filled with may day cheer.

So little mayflys come near and swarm me 

Well said the newborn nebula, 

I dont wanna be a droplet

 or a goblet of beer 

wheres the sunshine? ive got one unwound mind to rewind and it keeps coming untied and swelling over 

i wanna hide or ;perhaps relapse perhaps off track… i was just backtracking for my friend, a pedal pusher. With my medal of honor me then on with me…. i only wanna be a peace prize loriet born for the lore of it forward with an innocent teeter tattering tower of a flowers will. Just keep thinking how i used to be the easy kill….. 

I just keep thinking 

that i used to be the easy kill 

but now and then?! 

i never will, and that’s the problems epitome . No thats the power of a weepig willows will. that is the mana of a man i really want to be a season of freezing fleeing like a flea.
So they tell me i sing wrong

i swing and and i write wrong,

i fight and live life wrong

well maybe  just maybe crazy 

the issue is i think wrong.

How can one think wrong?

Or be wrong? We all bumble humbly regardless of the artistry

I set my own direction

 i dont need any exception until i confess that the stress is my vest and the chest is compiled higher than the fliers up where i couldnt reach out toward a compassionate cloud oh how i need to be free like the breeze in the trees and creeps in the steeply steeped seeps that ill sleep write into. singing one two are you done dude? you’ve always been the rudist nuddhist or the  illest buddhists fucking clueless blue faced bitch who would snitch me out. What would you have me think about right now? i fight for the right how my fingers seem to jerk the jerk and theres no controlling or consoling consoles on till the break of dawn spawn something crazy crowned carnage is the hardest rifle to shoot. So I blew it off an outwar like a dandelion. Or a dandy lion. And so i stifled my soup and brewed the brew that they wanted me to. the storm is brewing in the brewery and the whole things new to me im suppossed to bling bling like jewlery? ill make a fool of me. I rant for the goon and the ghouls and for the acquisition or grueling tools I’ve just came across I laid my name a cross crucified but at least I tried lied down in the thick of a ditch and the stars displayed a play that I’ve related to all my ominous audience. I guess the problem is this luminous doomsday but who’s to say if beauty is well dispelled only time will tell. For earth I’ll find compassion regardless of the darkness of whichever cave I dwell. 

Déjà Vu

I think about you now and then.       And all the differences 

All of the silly ways I chose                                     To find significance

But the fact is that after                          I’d had certificates 

I didn’t care, for fresh air I                       Became a physicist 

And when life steer the wave of.                 A (hardly)-business-trip 

You’ll find the things you grip tightest              .  Are just the first to slip  

I’ve been on both sides and through the great dividend. A mighty wind blew solace onto me for I’d been listening….

My friends stood beside me as I disassembled the charade and the masks faded, shaded, with the bluest blues I thought about you then, so I’ll think of you now 

   
 ~Prof. Mayfly

Thrown by the Wind

Hello everyone!

I recently wrote this poem and rapped it over a friends track on the full moon. self expression at its finest. please enjoy and share

https://soundcloud.com/subtle-keystrokes/thrown-by-the-wind-prod-by-most-potent?in=subtle-keystrokes/sets/collaborations

Lyrics:

These people want to start a war that they can’t afford. And I’m not really sure they want the war horns sounded on shore. They say their sure that their core knows theirs shields and sword and that the door to the keep doesn’t fall anymore.

I warned them intently based on empirical evidence it’s evident that their disposal here is imminent heaven sent expulsion of the arrogant aires that they live by thrown to the wind. Kicked in the shin and toppled over castle walls falling but the present pleasant peasant pillaged is precious loss. Is it the benefit worth the cost of a innocent life, yet yes in a sense life can’t be a damn thing but guilty. I blame the starry sky that built us filthy. Quilted silhouettes finding empty space to build filled with regrets scared of death. Make that horrified or mortified. As if there’s more to find than peace and love tormented souls with goals that they’ll never live by and by it’s all the same. I lonely game of pride and prejudice, lies and heretics, recruits and veterans jumbled together in a mixing pot of thoughts. Locked and loaded. Pumas ready to pounce. Renounce the deeds of streeds and horsemen, force them to submission listenin in the forest of lost soul to the winds spin.

These people want to start a war that they can’t afford. And I’m not really sure they want the war horns sounded on shore. They say their sure that their core knows theirs shields and sword and that the door to the keep doesn’t fall anymore.

Quite frankly I don’t have a problem with your listening I wrote so long I think I fucking sprained my wrist again speaking yeea alright speaking of the weakling with the fiercest eyes. The clearest ties to kinship with the kingships the nightly knight unwilling to fight are you a pacifist or just a passive bitch whining about the path that your shadow cast alas a rapper with class. Ok alright well the wind made me spin with my lips winced in inhaling a Winston. And glimpsing at a wrinkling sense urgency of this morning, glory and murdering.

Is this salvation or mutilation, one things for Damn certain. I’m done waiting. Sentimental patience or a senti-mental-patient. Genius or delusion clairvoyance or confusion. I spent my whole account on this illusion and I’m barely moving unless let the wind lift and drift me off. Man I’m up and away I’ve got this look on my face as if I’m lookin to say something vital about my vital signs. When I see it….

These people want to start a war that they can’t afford. And I’m not really sure they want the war horns sounded on shore. They say their sure that their kingsmen are proud and pure and that the door to the keep doesn’t fall anymore.

Ok ok well how does that make you feel really?

Really it makes me feel like there’s no ceiling and I’m kneeling to the whim of angry god I don’t believe look… this is treason you can’t attack those men for no good reason.

Seize him, prof. Mayflys gone off the rails. Most potent laid the tracks but to no avail. He’s not available we’ll have to haul the hull ourself and in the naval fleet a sudden hell, a great wAve they couldn’t save themselves thrown by the wind. Thrown for a spin in a deep dive of dividends the soldiers perished. As I escaped somehow my being captured was my great escape, the greatest laid plans and strategies all run out of batteries. They’re all just jealous or their mad at me for listening to wind spin. And i mean of course you’re off course if you don’t follow the current current like the smoke rises or like a river flows. And now it’s all exposed a patternless pattern, it’s like a rhythm though, hardly enough harmony the miserable harm in me. My throat I’m choking Evoking thoughts private, no I am just ghost this case is closed.

with love

Prof. Mayfly

The dark

   

 

For too long I lived in fear of the light

Scared and scarred…

From acting strong

When I knew I felt weak

But never since I can remember

Have I lived in fear of the dark

For I knew that it was 

Sacred and it was there,

That I have seen the clearest